Don't Run
by OceansAria
Summary: A quick one-shot about Sam and Dean as Sam starts to take advantage of his age and freedom.


"I _hate_ when he does this."

Dean threw the Impala into reverse, out of the spot, and sailed out of the Harveyville Motel parking lot. Lights flew past overhead, blinding him for a second as he took the left turn at the largest intersection in town towards the downtown suburbs.

Sam had disappeared hours earlier without a trace from the high school he'd been attending the past two weeks while their father was working. First, Dean had been worried. Then he got antsy and started asking the motel staff—the front desk man, the janitor, the kinda cute blond maid—if they'd seen Sam. He'd even walked over to the gas station across the street where Sam had been dropping in with his friends some for an after school snack. The dopey-eyed attendant claimed he hadn't seen Dean's little brother much lately.

Sam had gotten into a fight at his last school. No matter how high his grades were—which, _God_ the kid was a freakin' genius—teachers weren't all that forgiving when it came to someone pulling a silver knife on someone, convinced they were a monster. Though John had been pissed, it wore off, for Dean as well to a degree. He knew Sam wasn't a bad kid, knew he was just acting defensively, as they all should. Being a hunter was ground into the very grooves of your veins; you couldn't escape it.

Now Sam was nowhere to be found, and from what the gas station attendant had hinted at, Sam hadn't been chilling with the cleanest crowd of late.

 _Why, Sam?_ Dean couldn't help but think as the Impala ambled down Main Street, all the houses tucked in for the night. _You're too smart for this, kid._ Dean tried not to be sour about being known as the dumb Winchester brother. He knew "that look" teachers or principals did when they realized the two of them were siblings. "Guess Sam got all the brains and Dean got the muleheaded pride," a former friend had once joked with their dad. Dean wasn't numb to the fact that his test scores were well below average, that his GPA in the sewer, and his chance for college, a normal career, a future, had been washed away long ago. _You ain't a grunt, Sam. Don't be like me,_ he'd told his younger brother when they got the call about the accident at school.

 _You're not a grunt either, Dean._

With not a sign that Sam had been anywhere near that road, Dean drove down the next few streets until he remembered Sam babbling about some girl named Maria that he'd met. Obviously, he had a major crush on her. Didn't matter if Dean just wanted to help the kid, Sam refused all romantic advice ever since the Hot Coffee Down Pants Incident. All capital letters were necessary or so Sam claimed.

Maria supposedly lived on Northeast Hampton Road. Dean picked up speed the minute he was outside of city limits, headed for the rural plains of Minnesota. By the time he saw the bonfire, it completely dark out and his stomach was grumbling for a bacon cheeseburger. Which meant he wasn't just pissed, he was hungry _and_ pissed, and that combination never went well for whomever Dean Winchester was mad with.

Even from a distance Dean could tell exactly which teeny-bopper head was his brother's. He cut the Impala's purring engine and started that way.

The red Solo cup in Sam's hand threw him for a loop.

 _Alcohol?_ Sam wasn't big on alcohol. Got disgusted easily whenever Dean got hungover after a night out on the town. Even when Dean had betted him how fast he could chug a Bud Light, with the promise of twenty bucks if he did it in under a minute, Sam refused. Sure, the kid was sixteen now, but that didn't mean . . . Dean shook his head.

"Sam!"

His little brother didn't turn. Dean cupped his hands around his mouth, moving closer.

" _Sam!_ Get your skinny ass over here!"

The crowd of kids froze, most obviously Sam. Dean half expected for Sam to drop the Solo cup and hide behind the pudgy boy next to him, he looked so mortified.

"Sammy!" Dean clapped his freezing hands together. "You heard me. Get over here! Fun's over, little brother!"

A dark-haired girl giggled raucously at Sam's side, eyes dancing. "Go on, Sam," she said loud enough for all to hear. "We'll see you at school tomorrow."

Sam's expression, horror and anger and embarrassment, melted into one of tenderness. He reached over to squeeze her hand. "Thanks again for inviting me, Maria."

She nodded and sent Sam over to Dean. Dean's jaw clenched and unclenched—he wasn't sure whether to continue to be pissed or to be proud that his brother finally had some game with the ladies. Once Sam got close enough, however, he snatched the plastic cup from his little brother's hands and tossed it into the bushes.

"Hey!"

"What the hell were you thinking?" Dean growled. "I thought something had happened to you, Sammy. Did you suddenly forget how to use a freakin' telephone?"

"I-I—"

Dean grabbed Sam by his thin shoulders and shook. "Dad would've had my head on a plate with a damn apple in my mouth if anything had happened to you!"

"I don't need you to babysit me anymore, Dean!"

Dean drew back, feeling as if Sam himself had slapped him. _After all I've done . . ._ the darkest part of him started, but he shoved back. Shoved and shoved until he could think clearly again.

"'Course you don't," Dean recovered gruffly. "But you still can't just disappear, Sammy. You can't."

Sam stared up at Dean until the silence was uncomfortable and Dean released him. The kids behind Sam had obviously grown tired of their little show and scampered off elsewhere. The two brothers started for the Impala, quiet befalling them.

"Can I drive?"

"Are you drunk?"

"No."

"Let me be the judge of that." Dean went to bend down to be eye-to-eye with Sam— realized he didn't have to bend down so much anymore to make eye contact—and gestured for Sam to blow.

Sam pulled a scowl and blew out a puff of air straight up Dean's nose. Dean jerked back.

"Blew a straight up illegal."

"How would you know?" scoffed Sam.

"'Cause I'm four years older and been drunk a helluva lot more."

They settled on the front bench inside the Impala. Once cranked, Dean pulled off slower than usual, hoping that Sam wouldn't decide at that moment to vomit up the alcohol sloshing in his belly.

"You kiss her yet?" Dean attempted at conversation. He hated quiet car rides.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Cause I've only known her barely two weeks, Dean."

"So? Shoulda gone for it tonight. Would've totally swept her off her feet."

"I can decide this for myself," Sam protested. "Besides, even if I had, I wouldn't tell you."

"How come?"

"That's personal. My business. Isn't there, like, a rule, about how you shouldn't kiss and tell?"

"It's not really a golden rule." Dean replied. "And your business is my business because _you_ are my business."

"I'm sixteen, Dean. Not a kid anymore. You don't have to hold my hand and make me look both ways."

"How many times you gonna remind me of that tonight?"

Sam glared out of the corner of his eye. "Till you get it."

The rest of the way back to their temporary home was silent. Dean forced Sam to get in the bed, take aspirin, and placed a mop bucket he found in their closet next to Sam's bed just in case he felt the urge to spew beer all over the place. He wet a washcloth for Sam's forehead and made sure his brother was comfortable. Finally, Dean sat on his own queen-size, kicked off his boots, and turned on the TV, planning on watching informercials until he drifted off.

Friday morning began with the loud ringing of the motel phone. Dean scrambled out of bed, throwing sheets and pillows sky high to grab the receiver before the call stopped or the rings woke Sam.

"H-Hello?"

"Dean," John blew out a sigh of relief on the other end. "What the hell did you call me for? Did something happen to Sammy? Is he okay?"

 _Hi, Dad. Nice to here from ya. I'm good, and you?_

"Yeah, Dad, Sammy's fine." Dean answered, knowing it was half a lie. "Wanted to check in."

"You were supposed to check in with me tonight. Why didn't you wait?"

 _Not because I missed you._

"Dammit, sorry. Guess I got my days mixed up. Stupid me." Dean slapped his forehead even though no one could see, hoping that his lazy ass excuse would deter his father from further questioning. Dean wasn't good at lying. Especially to his dad who saw through him like glass. "So how are you, Dad?"

"Fine. Should be done by Monday. Tuesday at the latest."

Dean blew a low whistle. "Wow. This nest is really giving you a fit, huh?"

"Yes. You sure everything okay there?"

His teeth gritted subconsciously, his grip on the receiver near splintering. After all these years, did his father not trust him to protect Sam? "Everything's fine. I've got this."

"Tell Sammy I expect As on all his tests this week. You stay out of trouble, Dean."

 _Always about Sam._ Dean fought the hiss in his voice: "I will, Dad." He sat the receiver down, only for the overwhelming urge to pick it back up and slam it over and over again until the whole thin fell apart. Thankfully, Sam woke up.

"Dean?" Sam struggled to sit up, bleary-eyed and thick-tongued, cheeks flushed. "Dean, I don't feel so good—"

Blessed as he was with quick reflexes, Dean couldn't get the bucket there in time before Sam blew chunks all over the faded floral bedspread.

"C'mon, kid." Dean wiped what he could off of Sam's arms and face and dragged him into the bathroom. Sitting Sam on the tub's edge, he opened the toilet and turned him so if Sam vomited a second time, at least there was a fifty-fifty chance he would make it into the bowl. "Not lovin' that Bud Light so much now, are ya?"

"Never liked it in the first place," Sam moaned, clutching his head. "Drank it cause they were."

"That's never a good reason." Dean squatted next to Sam, patting his brother's forehead with a fresh washcloth. He'd get to the mess on the bed later; for now, he was needed elsewhere. "I guess it goes without sayin' that you won't be gluttin' on bubbly anytime soon?"

Sam spat bits of bile into the toilet. "Doubt it."

Once he was finished cleaning his gut of the previous night, Dean got Sam settled in his bed and took to cleaning up the dried vomit on the other. It took several towels, a call to maintenance for some ammonia, and lot of cursing and belly-aching, but when he was done, he realized Sam was staring at him instead of the TV screen where Tom chased Jerry for the umpteenth time.

"Thanks for taking care of me," Sam smiled. Pinks and reds returned to his skin. "I'm sorry I ran off without telling you where I was going. I didn't mean to make you worry."

Dean froze. They'd had this conversation a plenty in their lives—but rarely, had Sam said thank you in such a sincere, genuine way. It was natural, taking care of his younger brother, his little Sammy, but it wasn't easy. Hadn't ever been. And Sam driving Dean up the walls because he was old enough to take care of himself now didn't make Dean love Sam any less.

"You're welcome."

It _was_ always about Sam. Dean had no idea what he would do with his little free time if he didn't have Sammy to look after. His brother was his world.

"Do you have any major tests you'd be missin' out on if I let you skip school today?"

Sam's smile grew into a grin. " I took all my tests yesterday. Does that mean we can chill here all day?"

"It's not as fun as it seems," Dean chuckled, thinking of how everyday this week he'd been scouring the papers for a case. Even something easy like a ghost would keep his mind occupied and him out of the motel room. He plopped down by Sam's feet. "Now give me that remote. _Good Morning, America_ is on and I ain't gonna miss out on seeing that hot reporter lady."

"She's, like, fifteen years older than you!"

Dean slapped a hand over his brother's mouth. "Shhh. No talking when _Good Morning, America_ 's on, you hear? Now shut up and drink your water. Next time you get lit, Sammy, I ain't takin' care of you."

Sam removed Dean's hand from his mouth forcibly with a huff. He was still smiling, though, because of two things: (A) he got to sit on his ass all day and watch crap TV, and (2), Dean was lying.

So Sam picked up the motel phone, dialed the local pizza place, and ordered a medium pepperoni and two cheesesteaks. Today they were just gonna hang out and be brothers. Monday, or Tuesday, when their dad got back, they'd be the Winchester brothers again and Harveyville Motel where Sam Blew Chunks would be another bedtime story.


End file.
